Secretaries in Bondage

I paid the cab driver and turned to walk into the shiny, glass-encased office building. The bright southern California sun blinded me, and since I hadn't needed them when I boarded the plane at LaGuardia at 6AM I hadn't thought to bring sunglasses. I was momentarily snowblind when I entered the building. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a reception desk in front of me emblazoned with the emblem "Better Bonds, Inc." There was a young, tan, very attractive woman in a business suit wearing a headset looking at me expectantly. Her hair was bleached almost white from sun, although it might have been some shade of blonde to begin with. Her blouse didn't actually show as much cleavage as its first impression made you think it did because the neckline was accentuated by a tight choker around her neck.

"Thank you," I said. Of course, I expected that everyone would be exceedingly polite to me—my company had just bought out BBI, and I was leading the team in charge of assimilating our business operations. In other words, I would be deciding who got laid off and who was retained.

In a few minutes another tall, beautiful woman came from the back. She was tanned, with brown curly hair, a very short skirt, and bare legs in pumps. The blouse she wore under her jacket was cut exactly at hem-level, so that if she moved to either side an enticing strip of flat, tan belly peeked out. A blouse like that was too racy for the financial district in New York, but perhaps things were different in LA. She came to me extending her hand, which caused the tiny strip of flesh to peek out momentarily. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Edwards," she said in a husky voice, "my name is Ellen, and I'm one of Mr. Bower's personal assistants." One of? How many did he need? "I'm to take you wherever you wish to go."

"I'd like to start with HR, please," I replied. I'd been able to see most of the company's financials on the plane, since it had been part of the due diligence. I hadn't seen anything about the staff. It seemed a strange situation; Morris Bower had started Better Bonds from scratch twenty years ago and had built it into a multi-million dollar investment firm. At a time when the market was stinging from the collapse of junk bonds, he stepped in and started buying investment-grade bonds at high interest rates. He had grown a reputation for knowing a worthless bond from a golden one. Then about three years ago, Better Bonds bottom line suddenly started shrinking. Operating expenses seemed to keep increasing at a much faster rate than profits. With the stock market becoming volatile, Affirmative wanted to increase its presence in the bond market, and made an unsolicited offer for BBI. Their board turned on its founder and sold out while it was still just barely profitable. He would be all right, though—he owned enough stock to clear probably 300 million from the sale, on top of the fortune he'd made when he took the company public in the first place.

I was set up in a conference room and was given access to the company's personnel files. I began going through them. I paid no attention when Ellen excused herself momentarily. At first glance that staffing levels seemed about right, but the expenses still seemed so high... I started looking at individual employees, and what? What's this? A position classified as a special assistant to Mr. Bower—presumably a personal assistant—but making $200,000 a year, plus stock options? That's as much money as I made—that would have to stop, I thought. And then...what? Another one?

"I'm Morris Bower," said a voice behind me. I stood to meet the founder. He was silver-haired and thin on top, but also tan and appeared fit for a man of 60.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bower..." I began, shaking his hand.

"Looking through the personnel files, I see?" he asked. Ellen appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Yes..." I said sitting down.

Morris gave a nod in Ellen's direction. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Don't worry about me," he said jovially, "if Affirmative wants me to stay I can, but I'm also quite prepared to retire."

"OK," I replied. The bosses back east would make that call, not me.

"Perhaps you've already noticed that we have a few...special assistants on the payroll..." he said evasively.

"Yes, I had...just how many of them are there?" I asked.

"Four," he answered, "and it might seem that they are rather well compensated..."

"Uh, yeah," I replied sarcastically. I'd never seen anything like it.

"Mr. Edwards," he began formally, sitting down. "I've run this business for a long time. I know what's the going rate for various jobs, or I wouldn't have stayed in business this long. Now I expect that when you see special assistant you think secretary, and if that's the way you look at it then they're way overpaid. But let me assure you that each of the special assistants is much more than an administrator."

"Oh? How so?" I asked patronizingly.

"That," he smiled mysteriously, "is something that you will have to see firsthand. My special assistants would like to remain employed here, and have asked if I could arrange for a forum where they can demonstrate why they have been so valuable to BBI."

He talked about them like he owned them somehow. "Oh? And how will they do that?"

Mr. Bower now stood up. "Let's just call that a little L.A. secret for now. I'm playing golf with guys from 12th National Bank this afternoon, but I'll send my private car to pick you up say, around 3:30." I hesitated, but before I could protest he interrupted "Great. I'll look forward to seeing you again this afternoon." On cue, Ellen opened the door and he swept out. I sighed. What on earth did he have planned for me? They wanted to show why they were worth their outrageous salaries—but they couldn't do it at the office? That didn't make any sense. For a minute, I thought that perhaps something outrageously improprietous might be going on, but thought the better of it. Even in L.A., that kind of thing only happened in cheesy porn movies, I thought.

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Yup, there were four all right. Ellen Majors, my guide. Cherie Crawford, the receptionist at the front desk. And two others I had not yet met, Joy Peijing and Shana Flanagan. With stock options, a million bucks for four support staff. My mind couldn't keep thinking about what their special talents might be that Morris wanted me to know about, and the only thing my mind kept coming back around to was that porn-plot thing. Cheesy soundtrack porn soundtrack music kept running through my head, becoming so insistent as to be distracting by the time 4:00 approached. I wasn't real happy about Morris' rendezvous, but I had to admit I was pretty tired—my day had started at 1AM local time, so I guess it wasn't unreasonable to knock off a little early.

I was stifling a yawn when a girl came to tell me Mr. Bower's car was here for me. It wasn't Cherie, and while she was cute she wasn't dressed anything like Cherie had been—more normal, I would say. The fact that I was slightly disappointed by this surprised me.

"OK, I'll be right there," I said, shutting down my computer and packing up the papers I was planning to take back to the hotel. She waited quietly and then showed me out.

Mr. Bower's private car turned out to be a vintage 1950s Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud. A chauffeur stood by the door, waiting to open it for me. "I hope this isn't a company car," I remarked as I sat inside. A car like this was worth, what, maybe a half-million?

"No sir," he answered dryly, "this is Mr. Bower's personal car."

I have to admit I was impressed. The damn thing was as quiet as a Prius as we rolled down the boulevard. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Mr. Bower's mansion, in the hills," he remarked. Of course—where else would we go? The cheesy soundtrack playing in my head became deafening, especially with the car generating no noise of its own to counteract it.

The car pulled up in the circle drive of a classic Beverly Hills mansion. This was too much. If there was an orgy in progress inside, I told myself as I walked up the steps, I'd laugh in their California faces and leave, calling a cab if I had to. I hadn't counted on Kitty.

Passing between the massive columns flanking the entry, I rang the bell, expecting perhaps a butler would answer the door, given the chauffeur. Instead the door was opened by one of the most spectacular women I have ever seen. She was beautiful, with long blonde hair and California tan. But what took my breath away was her outfit—she wore black leather halter top with matching black leather Daisy Duke shorts and platform black mules. Her tan was uniform, even in the exposed space between her impressive breasts, which made me think that perhaps she had no tan lines—anywhere. The massive gold-and-diamond rings she wore on her left hand seemed somewhat incongruous with the rest of her look. "Hello, you must be Jack. I'm Kitty," she purred in a deep, sexy voice. Of course you are, suddenly feeling the need to adjust the position of my trousers. "Kitty Bower, Morris' wife," she continued, "please come in."

Wife? Morris, you old crafty bastard, how did you land yourself a piece like this? Never mind, I just got a ride in your Rolls—I know damn well how you managed it.

"I...I didn't know..." I stumbled, unable to construct a coherent sentence because I had to censor myself from saying virtually every thought in my head.

"Morris doesn't usually tell people about me ahead of time," she announced. Clearly she'd seen this reaction before. "He says its easier if people just meet me rather than trying to explain me. Follow me please—Morris is waiting for you in the solarium." Her shoes clicked across the marble floors as she led me into the house. I gulped as I watched the finely toned symphony of muscles from her butt to her ankles working together as she glided across the floor in those impossibly high heels. With her back to me now, I did quickly adjust myself, giving my sudden erection some breathing room.

I followed Kitty, staying far enough back to appreciate her walk while trying not to be obvious that I was staring at it. It took some time reach the solarium at the back of the house. The solarium was a glass-walled room that overlooked the sunken pool outside. There were a number of thick, sturdy columns holding up the roof in-between, matching the ones by the front entrance. Morris was standing facing the pool, barefoot, wearing a golf shirt and khaki pants that still had a few specs of grass on the cuffs; apparently he wasn't lying when he said he was playing golf. He turned when he heard Kitty clicking up behind him.

"Mr. Edwards is here," Kitty announced matter-of-factly.

"Thank you, dear," Morris said, then reached up to kiss her—he wasn't very tall to begin with, and with those sky-high platforms she was a good two inches taller than he. She bent over to give him a quick kiss—but at the same time he slipped his fingers under her halter and tweaked one of her nipples. I couldn't decide if he was trying to hide his little feel, or whether he was trying to make sure that I saw it. "Please stick around, we may need your help."

"Yes, dear," she said in a tone devoid of emotion.

"This is quite the house you have here, Mr. Bower," I said with due awe.

"Thank you," he said proudly, "I have quite a nice life these days. I see you've met my wife..." He nodded in her direction.

I nodded, not sure what to say. What do you say when the man whose company you just took over turns out to be married to the hottest piece of ass you've ever seen? Nice going?

"Well, suffice it to say it's not always been this way, but I didn't bring you here to bore you with stories of how I clawed my way to the top," he continued. That's good, because I was expecting that was precisely what he meant to do. "I promised my trusty assistants that I would give them the opportunity to show you why they are worth the salaries that they receive." My thoughts had been so thoroughly sent off-track by the sight of Kitty, I'd forgotten why I was here in the first place.

"Ah, yes," I answered, remembering—but I didn't see them anywhere. "What do they intend to do?" I asked guardedly.

"Why don't you ask them yourself?" he replied, "they're right out here." With that he went to the wall of windows and opened the glass door to the pool area. He stood there holding it open, waiting for me to walk through. I paused for a second to see if Mrs. Bower would walk through, but she was waiting for me, too. Bowing to social pressure, I went through the door next. Kitty followed.

I stopped just the other side of the door, not knowing where to go—I didn't see anybody. Morris walked forward, just past one of the columns. "Now this is Shana—you've not met her yet..." Shana? I'd read the name in the books, but...was she invisible?

Confused, I took two steps forward and now saw Shana, and understood why I'd not seen her before; she was tied to the column. Her were fully extended overhead and tied to ropes that ran around the column itself. Her ankles were likewise tied to the column, and in the middle ropes wound around her torso, holding her closely pressed against it. A cloth gag covered her mouth. She had beautiful, flame red hair, with pale skin and freckles. She was dressed in a blouse, short-skirted business suit and heels like I'd seen Ellen and Cherie wear. Kitty stood behind me, but was thoroughly nonplussed by the site of a beautiful woman tied to the column as Morris. "Now Shana...she's Irish in case you can't tell, from Boston originally..." As he talked, Morris was toying with her as if he were posing a doll, first adjusting where her hair fell then pulling the tied-down suitjacket so that it was out of the way and her blouse showed. She watched him as he touched whatever part of her body he chose, but her expression belied neither fear nor surprise. Clearly, she was not tied here against her will. "She's got this lovely skin, but we have to make sure she's not in the sun too long, or she'll burn like a lobster. Right?" She nodded her head the little bit she could tied to the pole. As this was going on, Morris was nonchalantly unbuttoning her blouse. I was frozen as I watched Morris unbutton every button on her blouse, then pull the flaps of the blouse to the side, where pressure from the ropes kept them in place.

"Plug her in, would you dear?" he said, addressing Kitty as he pulled a small knife from his pocket. I turned away for a second to see her head back to the house, and when I looked back Morris had cut through all of the straps on Shana's bra and was now pulling its remains free from the ropes. In no time her breasts were free and exposed. They had the same delicate skin and soft freckles, with pale pink nipples. Morris tweaked Shana's nipples to make them erect. Part of my brain was screaming this was very wrong and I should leave, but instead I found myself rooted to the spot, shocked and fascinated by what I saw. Fact is, I love redheads, and Shana was about as beautiful a redhead as I had ever seen—in my book, she'd give Kitty a real run for her money.

Kitty returned, carrying a wooden box. She set it down in front of Shana, and got down one knee to open it—and I thought her ass looked dynamite when she was walking. Kitty took what was clearly a vibrator out of the box, only it was attached to a small black belt. Expertly, Kitty reached up under Shana's short skirt, and tightened the belt around her left thigh, just below her short skirt, so that it now stayed put. Then she carefully positioned the vibrator; I guessed she was making sure it touched the clitoris. Shana eyes closed momentarily, after which Kitty stood and picked up the box again. Apparently she'd found it.

While I was watching Kitty place the vibe I'd lost track of Morris. "Now this is Joy—I don't know that you've met her, either." I looked up and saw him standing two columns down. I felt I should talk but had nothing to say. I found myself stepping over towards where he and now Kitty stood in spite of myself. "Joy is of Asian descent, as you might have guessed, and is from San Francisco..." he narrated as he began to arrange Joy to his liking. She was a shortish and slight Asian girl, with long dark hyper-straight hair. Her hands and torso were tied to the column like Shana had been, but unlike the redhead she was standing on one leg, while the other was bent at the knee and tied so that it pointed upwards—greatly increasing access to her crotch. She was wearing a dress instead of a suit, and Morris was opening it down the front as he spoke—but I was too rapt in what I was watching to hear what he was saying. Her dress opened completely down the front, allowing him to push it to the sides like Briana's, except Joy was exposed from top to bottom. He didn't need to cut her bra off, it clasped in the front and so he simply pushed it aside like the dress. Her breasts were small to fit her slender frame, but their brown nipples were huge. She was wearing a thong, which I realized was a stripper's thong when Morris reached for the tiny clasps on the sides. A click here and a click there and the thong was easily removed and tossed aside. She was shaved completely bare between her legs. Kitty now brought a vibe up to Joy's crotch and began to work against her pubic bone. She turned it in circles, pressing against the folded lips there, until they began to gave way. She didn't stop until the barrier became sufficiently receptive, at which time she buried the vibe almost entirely inside her pussy and left it there.

Just beyond Joy's column there was a curving set of concrete stairs that led to the pool area itself. Morris was already halfway down them when he started talking again, saying "now I know you've met Ellen..." I lingered for a moment, taking in sight of the pretty Asian with her leg tied up and the vibrator buzzing in her box. Then I followed at double-time to catch up to Morris, by now quite interested to see how Ellen would be, um, displayed.

I skipped down the stairs and found Ellen tied face-down to the low diving board by the pool. She was actually kneeling on the cement, one leg straddling each side of the diving board, but her hands were tied to the board at their maximum reach. This position was obviously designed to highlight Ellen's tight ass. Morris had already pulled up her skirt and pulled down her thong. He was rubbing and playfully slapping the cheeks, watching the ripples in the tight muscle.

Kitty clicked by me and knelt behind her. Producing a tube of lubricant, she began to work it around and into Ellen's smaller hole. Morris meanwhile reached under her to unbutton her blouse (her jacket had disappeared somewhere along the line). When it was all the way unbuttoned he pulled the sides free and reached under—her body wasn't tied as tightly as the other girls' had been, but the way her knees were bound to the diving board, she wasn't going anywhere. Kitty had inserted one buzzing vibe in Ellen's pussy and now was working another into her upturned ass. Morris was playing with her tits underneath; apparently she hadn't worn a bra at all. When she turned her head sideways, I saw that she wore a ball gag.

When the second vibe nestled comfortably, if that's possible, in Ellen's backside, Morris turned and walked towards the corner of the pool deck, saying "and last but definitely not least, we have lovely Cherie." I don't know why I hadn't noticed her before, except perhaps that that corner of the pool deck was now in shadows. There was a shaded alcove tucked under the veranda by the solarium, and like any good pool there were reclining deck chairs lining the deck. Cherie was tied to one of them. It was laid fully flat; Cherie's thighs were tied to the armrests and her ankles were tied together with a rope that ran under the chair, forcing her legs wide open. With her short skirt, her prominently visible thong was the focal point of attention even before Morris began to, um, arrange her. Her wrists were secured to the top of the chair with two sets of handcuffs, and she wore a ring gag. Morris was talking again, but I wasn't hearing him, I was just watching as he undid the clips from her thong—also the stripper variety—and tenderly stroked the hairless mound revealed. Then he deferred to Kitty as she inserted a vibe into her pussy while he unbuttoned her blouse, lovingly kissing the large, full breasts revealed underneath. I looked at Morris, and at Cherie, and it was clear that both were quite comfortable with their roles in this scenario—porn movie plot or not, it was pretty clear what these girls' special talents were. I had to admire Morris' skill with a rope if nothing else, these girls were tied down but good—and then I remembered the stray grass clippings. He'd been golfing...Kitty must have been the one tying the other girls up. I gave her a sidelong glance; what else was she capable of?